The CleanSweep Conspiracy by Chuck Waldron Page A

himself. He already knew he had me in his pocket. What he didn’t know was that I was a master pickpocket.”
    Tanner started to chortle. “I took one last look at the receptionist. I watched her as the door to the elevator closed. She sat, looking at me with a pose that told me she knew her job was to be the gatekeeper to a remarkable man and that she was indifferent to the effect she had on mere mortals — men like me.”
    Tanner and Matt put the story to rest for a while and talked about Miles Davis. Tanner asked him if Matt had Sketches of Spain in his collection. Matt nodded, stood up, and walked over to adjust the playlist. They finished the last of the single malt, letting the trumpet music of Miles Davis tempt them with thoughts of flamenco dancers in Spain, transporting them to a sunny place — a far better place, they both agreed.
    “You know the movie The Wizard of Oz ?” Tanner asked. “That’s what I kept thinking about on the way home that day. That Claussen was sitting behind a screen, hoping he wouldn’t be exposed as the wizard was in that old movie. I watch it every year with my kids.”
    He brushed a tear away when he mentioned his children. “The bastard didn’t know that I would be the one to pull back the scrim, the curtain, to let the world see him for what he really is. As much of a genius as Claussen may be, he didn’t see through my masquerade. Little did he realize he had just interviewed a mole who would bore into the truth, a closet Socialist intent on worming his way into the heart of that man’s most heavily guarded secret. That day, with a handshake, Claussen handed me the key to CleanSweep. I had a job that would allow me to discover how devious his plan really was. That’s why I’ve told you all this. History has shown us that dictators are the most vulnerable at the beginning of their reigns, but nobody takes action to stop them. You have to promise to stop him, Matt!”
    Tanner then got up and walked to the door with a slight wobble — hardly noticeable. “Where’s my jacket?”
    It was on a nearby table. Matt handed it to him and watched him leave without another word, not even a good - bye. He’d walked out that night with his shoulders back, head high, proud to have played his small role in history.
    Matt had watched Tanner’s back as he walked to the elevator. For some reason, Tanner’s gait reminded him of a scene in To Kill a Mockingbird , at the point in the story when Reverend Sykes says, “Miss Jean Louise, stand up. Your father’s passin’.” Matt straightened up in his doorway, his show of respect to the man passing by — not realizing Tanner was also passing out of his life.
    That was the last time Matt ever saw Tanner.
    Two days later, when Matt heard about Tanner’s “accident,” he knew immediately it wasn’t a coincidence.
    Later, when he needed courage, Matt thought about that memory of the last time he had seen Tanner alive — the memory of the way he looked walking away that night. Matt played that image back in his mind like a recorded video, whenever he wished to honor the man who had started him down this dangerous path. The man who gave him proof of CleanSweep’s evil intent.

CHAPTER 7
    Nose for the News
    “S he’s on the way,” someone shouted, “and she’s fuming!”
    Nobody had to ask who or why. Interns and reporters alike scrambled while picking up papers, trying to find a good reason to be going somewhere else. It didn’t matter where, as long as they escaped her wrath.
    Camera crews, the audio man, and the floor director all headed for corners — anywhere out of the way.
    Carl knew why she was in a foul mood — unpleasant, even for her. Susan Payne generally stomped around, walking in a manner that warned everyone to stay out of her way. That day, she stormed into the newsroom with exceptional fury. Carl Remington, her cameraman, watched her grab a run - sheet from the counter, stare at it as if it were emitting a nasty